


Balancing Act

by Polomonkey



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Families of Choice, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 15:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11383017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polomonkey/pseuds/Polomonkey
Summary: “Grief is a balancing act,” Merlin says and his eyes glitter in the moonlight.Arthur flicks the stub of his cigarette away, swearing it’s his last one, swearing he’ll quit tomorrow. It’s about as true as the sign on Mordred’s tent that promises ‘a crystal clear glimpse into your future, 100% satisfaction guaranteed’.“Like trapeze?” Arthur says and Merlin laughs softly.“Ten times harder.”





	Balancing Act

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Albion Circus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1545500) by [texasfandoodler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/texasfandoodler/pseuds/texasfandoodler). 



> Bit of an odd one, this, and definitely not encompassing of all the lovely feels Tex's beautiful circus art gave me. But I hope you like it anyway Tex! You knew how much I loved this particular piece of art, so thank you for the inspiration. Miss you <3

_No, I have never found_

_The place where I could say_

_This is my proper ground,_

_Here I shall stay_

 

**Places, Loved Ones** ~ Philip Larkin

 

***

 

“Grief is a balancing act,” Merlin says and his eyes glitter in the moonlight.

Arthur flicks the stub of his cigarette away, swearing it’s his last one, swearing he’ll quit tomorrow. It’s about as true as the sign on Mordred’s tent that promises ‘a crystal clear glimpse into your future, 100% satisfaction guaranteed’.

“Like trapeze?” Arthur says and Merlin laughs softly.

“Ten times harder.”

Some days Arthur looks at what Merlin does on the trapeze and it makes his heart stop, imagining his own mother up there, doing the same thing.

He doesn’t imagine for long though, because his mind will always turn to the last act she performed, and he has nightmares enough about that.

No one here saw it. No one here remembers, except for Gaius, and he won’t speak of the fall. Just of Ygraine as she was before; her beauty, her grace.

What good is beauty and grace to Arthur? What good is this perfect woman that Gaius conjures up for him, the very same fantasy his father carried round till the day he died? Arthur doesn’t want a mother on a pedestal. He wants someone to tell him about when she got cross, when she complained, when she rubbed people up the wrong way.

Then again, he knows exactly how flawed his father was, and it hasn’t made things any easier.

Is it better to fall through the air, he wonders, with only seconds to see the ground rushing up towards you and realise what it means? Or is the long goodbye of cancer better, the slow rasps of breath in the hospital bed, his father’s eyes growing dimmer and dimmer each day?

“But it does get easier,” Merlin says and Arthur looks at him and thinks how pretty he is, how beautifully made, and also how he doesn’t believe a word he says.

 

***

 

Arthur didn’t know about the Albion Circus until after Uther’s death, sorting through his papers and books, the seemingly endless detritus of a life cut short. He finds the picture of his mother on the trapeze and he finds one of his father too, decked out in ringmaster gear, smiling widely. And himself, playing with the clown make up, barely two years old. There’s a baby blanketed beside him, chubby hand outstretched, and Arthur likes to imagine it’s Merlin. But it’s impossible to tell and in any case, he can’t remember a thing from back then. He hoped that when he tracked them down, when he explained to Gaius who he was, when he finally saw the Big Top again… it would feel like home.

But it didn’t. It doesn’t. He’s a stranger here and he shouldn’t stay.

Gaius persuades him to stick with them until they move to Great Yarmouth next month. He’s worried about Arthur, that much is obvious, but Arthur doesn’t know why. Uther’s left him a substantial inheritance. He has more money than he could ever need, which is more than can be said of the circus. The glamour of those old pictures is long past now. The tents are shabby, the costumes are patched and worn. The lions and elephant are gone, and Gaius’ monkey is old and slow now, no longer a part of any act. The horses remain but they look tired too, like they’ve been at this for too long.

Give it up, Arthur wants to say to them all. Show’s over. Go home.

 

***

 

He gets drunk with Gwaine one night. Gwaine’s tactile, all hands everywhere, grabbing Arthur’s wrist for emphasis, squeezing his knee.

When the gin runs out, Gwaine asks if Arthur wants to go and find more.

There’s an invitation in his voice and Arthur knows how easy it would be to follow him back to his caravan, to let Gwaine press him down on the narrow bed and push all other thoughts out of Arthur’s head.

He’s been thinking about that a lot recently, watching the closeness between the Albion crew. He’s been thinking about intimacy and about how long it’s been since he’s slept beside another person. He’s been looking at Percy’s arms when he lifts weights in the field, at the twist of Elyan’s back as he preps a throw. He’s been watching the way the sunlight plays on Gwen’s face when she sunbathes in the grass, the curve of Freya’s arms as she stretches in the morning.

Most of all, his eyes have been on Merlin – the sweet bow of his lips, the sharp lines of his body. His humour, his compassion. The way he speaks and the way he listens.

He says nothing and watches as the hunger in Gwaine’s eyes softens into something kinder.

“Another time,” he says and pats Arthur’s shoulder, his touch at once too much and not enough.

 

***

 

“Great Yarmouth next week,” Arthur says. The night is thick around him, dark and close.

Merlin nods.

“And then what for you? You’ll go home?”

“I don’t have a home,” Arthur says, with all the unselfconscious melodrama that whiskey gives him.

Merlin doesn’t say anything for a while, his eyes on the distant clock-tower.

“You could have one here.”

And Arthur can’t stand the sincerity in his voice so he ducks his head and says “I can’t juggle, sorry,” and Merlin sighs but says no more.

 

***

 

Arthur helps them pack up the morning after the last show. They didn’t make much but they made enough to carry on. That seems to be the most anyone at the circus has in the way of a plan.

He went to Merlin’s caravan the night before. He’d asked Merlin to fuck him and then asked Merlin to hurt him, and Merlin had cried and sent him away.

In the bleached light of dawn, he wants to ask for forgiveness. Wants to say that he wasn’t always like this, wants to say that something’s died in him since his father passed and he doesn’t know how to get it back.

But what good would that do? Arthur folds costumes instead, loads trailers, greases wheels. He feels Merlin’s gaze on him but he doesn’t look back, not until it’s time to go.

“It’s been nice to meet you,” Arthur says, suddenly stiff and formal.

Merlin still looks so sad but he manages to roll his eyes.

“I’ve known you since I was born, Arthur.”

“I don’t remember that,” Arthur says, suddenly wishing he did, so much.

“I do. I used to follow you round everywhere. Uncle Gaius said I cried for weeks when you left.”

“Well, don’t cry this time,” Arthur says, and it’s not even close to the joke he wants it to be.

“Don’t leave this time,” Merlin says, completely open, a hundred times braver than Arthur could ever be.

Arthur looks at the lines at the side of Merlin’s eyes. He’s getting older, they all are, and no one can do this forever. Maybe his father was right to cut and run when he did.

Or maybe his father was wrong about everything.

“Where after Great Yarmouth?” he asks.

“Margate.”

“I’ll stay till Margate,” Arthur says, just to see Merlin smile.

After that, who knows? Maybe he'll stay forever. Maybe he'll give up smoking. Maybe he'll sleep by Merlin every night and his dreams will be full of peace.

Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
